The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 2 (of 8)

Variant 1:

1820
... thundering, ...	1800

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Variant 2:

1815
... half giant and half sage,	1800

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Variant 3:

1820
It came, you know, with fire and smoke And hither did it bend its way.	1800
And hitherward it bent its way.	1802

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Variant 4:

1836
The Thing had better been asleep, Whatever thing it were, Or Breeze, or Bird, or fleece of Sheep, That first did plant you there.	1800
Or Breeze, or Bird, or Dog, or Sheep,	1802

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Variant 5:

1820
That it is true, and more than true,	1800

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Variant 6:

1827
... be we young or old,	1800

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Variant 7:

1836
Here spread ...	1800

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Variant 8:

1815
The Spring for me a garland weaves Of yellow flowers and verdant leaves,	1800

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Variant 9:

1802
... on me ...	1800

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Variant 10:

1827
To feed and ...	1800
To rest and ...	1815

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Variant 11:

1815
One night the Wind came from the North And blew a furious blast,	1800

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Note:

The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note. It is, beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper path from Grasmere to Rydal passes. There is one huge block of stone high above the path, which answers well to the description in the second stanza. Crabb Robinson wrote in his Diary (Sept. 11, 1816):

"The poem of The Oak and the Broom proceeded from his" (Wordsworth) "beholding a tree in just such a situation as he described the broom to be in."

Ed.

Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places
Main Contents

"'Tis said, that some have died for love"

Composed 1800.—Published 1800

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.

The Poem

text	variant	footnote	line number
'Tis said, that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold north's unhallowed ground, Because the wretched man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn's side: He loved—the pretty Barbara died; And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid When thus his moan he made: "Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie, That in some other way yon smoke May mount into the sky! The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart: I look—the sky is empty space; I know not what I trace; But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. "O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, That murmur once so dear, when will it cease? Your sound my heart of rest bereaves, It robs my heart of peace. Thou Thrush, that singest loud—and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit, Upon that alder sit; Or sing another song, or choose another tree. "Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustained; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Headlong yon waterfall must come, Oh let it then be dumb! Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now. "Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers, Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale, Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers, And stir not in the gale. For thus to see thee nodding in the air, To see thy arch thus stretch and bend, Thus rise and thus descend,— Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear." The Man who makes this feverish complaint Is one of giant stature, who could dance Equipped from head to foot in iron mail. Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine To store up kindred hours for me, thy face Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know Such happiness as I have known to-day. Note Contents	1 2 3 4		5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50

Variant 1:

1836
... Ye leaves, When will that dying murmur be suppress'd? Your sound my heart of peace bereaves, It robs my heart of rest.	1800

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Variant 2:

1800
... yon ...	MS.

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Variant 3:

1836
Thou Eglantine whose arch so proudly towers (Even like a rainbow ...	1800
... the rainbow ...	1802

The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.

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Variant 4:

1836
... or ...	1800

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Note:

If the second, third, and fourth stanzas of this poem had been published without the first, the fifth, and the last, it would have been deemed an exquisite fragment by those who object to the explanatory preamble, and to the moralising sequel. The intermediate stanzas suggest Burns's

'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care!'

and Browning's May and Death:

'I wish that when you died last May,
Charles, there had died along with you
Three parts of spring's delightful things;
Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too.'

This mood of mind Wordsworth appreciated as fully as the opposite, or complementary one, which finds expression in the great Ode, Intimations of Immortality (vol. viii.), l. 26.

'No more shall grief of mine the season wrong,'

and which Browning expresses in other verses of his lyric, and repeatedly elsewhere. The allusion in the last stanza of this poem is to Wordsworth's sister Dorothy.—Ed.

Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places
Main Contents

The Childless Father

Composed 1800.-Published 1800 ^A

The Poem

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. When I was a child at Cockermouth, no funeral took place without a basin filled with sprigs of boxwood being placed upon a table covered with a white cloth in front of the house. The huntings on foot, in which the old man is supposed to join as here described, were of common, almost habitual, occurrence in our vales when I was a boy, and the people took much delight in them. They are now less frequent.—I. F.]

One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.

The Poem

text	variant	footnote	line number
"Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away! Not a soul in the village this morning will stay; The hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds, And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds." —Of coats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and green, On the slopes of the pastures all colours were seen; With their comely blue aprons, and caps white as snow, The girls on the hills made a holiday show. Fresh sprigs of green box-wood, not six months before, Filled the funeral basin at Timothy's door; A coffin through Timothy's threshold had past; One Child did it bear, and that Child was his last. Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, The horse and the horn, and the hark! hark away! Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut With a leisurely motion the door of his hut. Perhaps to himself at that moment he said; "The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead." But of this in my ears not a word did he speak; And he went to the chase with a tear on his cheek. Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places Main Contents	1	B C	5 10 15 20

Variant 1:

1827
The basin of box-wood, just six months before, Had stood on the table at Timothy's door,	1800
The basin had offered, just six months before, Fresh sprigs of green box-wood at Timothy's door;	1820

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Footnote A:

Also in The Morning Post, Jan. 30, 1801.—Ed.

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Footnote B:

In several parts of the North of England, when a funeral takes place, a basin full of Sprigs of Box-wood is placed at the door of the house from which the Coffin is taken up, and each person who attends the funeral ordinarily takes a Sprig of this Box-wood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased.—W. W. 1800.

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Footnote C:

In the list of errata, in the edition of 1820 "one child" is corrected, and made "a child"; but the text remained "one child" in all subsequent editions.—Ed.

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Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places
Main Contents

Song for the Wandering Jew

Composed 1800.—Published 1800

Included among the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.

The Poem

text	variant	footnote	line number
Though the torrents from their fountains Roar down many a craggy steep, Yet they find among the mountains Resting-places calm and deep. Clouds that love through air to hasten, Ere the storm its fury stills, Helmet-like themselves will fasten On the heads of towering hills. What, if through the frozen centre Of the Alps the Chamois bound, Yet he has a home to enter In some nook of chosen ground: And the Sea-horse, though the ocean Yield him no domestic cave, Slumbers without sense of motion, Couched upon the rocking wave. If on windy days the Raven Gambol like a dancing skiff, Not the less she loves her haven In the bosom of the cliff. The fleet Ostrich, till day closes, Vagrant over desert sands, Brooding on her eggs reposes When chill night that care demands. Day and night my toils redouble, Never nearer to the goal; Night and day, I feel the trouble Of the Wanderer in my soul. Contents: Poems on the Naming of Places Main Contents	1 2 3 4 5 6 7	A	5 10 15 20 25

Variant 1:

This stanza was added in the edition of 1827.

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Variant 2:

1827
Though almost with eagle pinion O'er the rocks the Chamois roam, Yet he has some small dominion Which no doubt he calls his home.	1800
Though, as if with eagle pinion O'er the rocks the Chamois roam, Yet he has some small dominion Where he feels himself at home.	1815

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Variant 3:

1836
Though the Sea-horse in the ocean Own no dear domestic cave; Yet he slumbers without motion On the calm and silent wave.	1800
Yet he slumbers—by the motion Rocked of many a gentle wave.	1827